"One moment please...connecting you..."

Like any job, mine has its good days and bad days. Usually this depends on the mood of my boss. You know the old saying, "If mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy." So true. Sometimes when things are going well and I'm really on top of my game, I can tell I'm in her good graces. She always wants to know what's going on in the office, so we give her updates and keep her informed, which sometimes is intimidating. I tiptoe into her office to make sure she's not already on the phone, and usually she's in her big, black leather office chair, her back to the door. Remember Dr. Claw from Inspector Gadget? Righto.

Some days she wants to know everything and I finally start to feel OK approaching her. Other days she does NOT want to be bothered with details and I steer clear. Our office manager, the next in command, reminds me that that's what she's there for. So I should go through her with details before approaching the Boss.

This makes sense in the work world, but it got me thinking. I am SO glad this is not the way my God works. How great is it that we have the Holy Spirit and that because of Jesus we have direct access to the King of Kings? Sure, there's a fear and trembling when approaching the throne room, but not of the I'm-afraid-I'm-about-to-get-smited variety. It's a profound respect for his sovereignty, and yet he welcomes us in without any chain of command, even if it's concerning a seemingly irrelevant detail.

When my boss doesn't want to be disturbed, she closes her door and we know to hold all the calls and leave her alone. I thank God that he doesn't shut the door on us.

What's happening to me?

Tonight as I walked with my folded clothes up the steps from the laundry room I said a gentle, friendly hello to a cat.

This may seem normal to you, but it's not for me. When did this feline-friendly behavior sneak in? Have I been spending too much time among cat enthusiasts at work? Most likely. If you can't beat 'em, join 'em? Ai yai yai...I'm going to claim instead the "Audrey Hepburn Moment" theory. I am Holly Golightly. The cat is Cat. Still gets me to thinking...geeze Louise.

Oh, guess what! New artist discovery: Ferraby Lionheart. Rainn Wilson (aka Dwight Schrute from The Office) played him while he guest dj'd on my favorite radio station Indie 103.1 last night. Ferraby is kind of folksy, from Nashville. I feel like I've heard of him before, but this is my first listen. Take a little listen yourself.

Looking up

It has been far too long since I've updated the blog. What a crazy-full month! We were threatened by flames (my church burned down in Malibu), I worked like nuts for the American Film Market (one night we left the office at 10:30 PM, no exagerration, and when I actually was home, I was writing script reports for my boss), and I kept up the search for a new vehicle and a buyer for the Saab. *phew!*



Good news, though. The church is stronger than ever without its building. Work has greatly improved (still long hours, but the environment has been better). Aaaand I've found a new car!







This is a great relief to me, as I've been hunting for a more dependable car for a while now, and I think this one has the potential to have as much personality as the Saab (which will get its on tribute soon). It's a 1999 Toyota Rav4, which I believe I am naming Wolfram Tiger Yang (a German first name, of course, but with Japanese to keep it true to its roots).



In other news, for those readers who are removed from the LA area, the writers are on strike out here. That would be me, too, except that I'm not employed as a writer yet...so I am finally seeing God's hand in my job situation. If I didn't have this job, I would probably be working in production somewhere, or doing odd jobs while I tried writing and selling scripts...both of which would have me high and dry right now. Can't sell any scripts, and tons of production workers are losing their jobs since shows can't continue without scripts. You will be noticing this soon as re-runs and reality shows take over the airwaves and your favorite shows go dark.



My 2 cents: The situation stinks. I agree with the writers; all they (we) want is to get returns on DVD and internet sales because right now writers get nothing for all the downloads people watch online, while the producers profit. The sad part is that it has come to a strike, which is already affecting tons of jobs (including my own personal good friends'), and will only continue to impact the economy more deeply. Why can't we all just get along? ...I have my speculations.



If you want to read a good article about the strike, check out "Schmucks with Typewriters" by screenwriter William Boyd. He makes the case that Hollywood needs to start giving writers the credit they deserve. After all, without a script, nothing gets made at all.

It's got its ups and downs.

Let's begin with props to all the adults in the world who have succeeded in setting themselves up to live comfortably and legally. And let's also extend some sympathy to the homeless and illegal aliens who have yet to succeed. Why, you ask? Because growing up is hard to do, and without the help of friends and family, it's even harder.

My job has begun to suck the life out of me. We're really busy getting ready for the American Film Marketplace (AFM) that takes place in Santa Monica in a few weeks, so it's early mornings, late nights, and homework in addition (i.e. I read scripts and write reports about them for my boss). It's exhausting, but recent outbursts from my boss have made it emotionally draining too. So, toss in a few sobbing car rides home. Add to that that the car has been a) illegal because it's not registered, and b) on the verge of falling to pieces. And though I took it to the mechanic last weekend, it failed the smog check, and no one was able to fix it before the work week.

This is just me, you understand, and I have wonderful parents who offer to help and even offer to fly out to my assistance! How do other people cope?? *sigh* It's a mad, mad, mad, mad world, and this is just a glimpse.

On the bright side, weekend evenings have provided me with friendly relief...and culture. A few weekends ago, my friends Ty and Amanda hosted a French night at their lovely apartment. Amanda made ratatouille, steak, and quiche, and the rest of us brought wine, dessert, and bread. Plus, we taste-tested some delicious cheeses and played Apples to Apples, with French music playing in the background, of course.

Carly and Ty

The following weekend we went to Oktoberfest in Torrance's Alpine Village. Do not be misled, as I was, that this village in any way resembles a mountain hideway. It's a restaurant off the freeway amidst smog and industry. BUT there was a huge tent, long tables, and an oompah band a la real Munich style, and the Alpine Village grocery store has authentic (overpriced) German goods. Mmmmm Muesli.

me, Taryn, Amanda, Ty, and Marc

So all in all, though weeks are rough, there are patches of light that make things better. Here's to a better week. Prost!

Sundays in Malibu

Weekends are WONderful things. God wasn't kidding around when he established the Sabbath. I've learned my lesson about that the hard way, and let me tell you: take a day off. You need it.

It is becoming a weekly tradition for me lately to spend my Sundays in Malibu, my old stomping grounds. My home church, Malibu Pres, is there, and a handful of my old friends and Pepperdine acquaintances still attend. The worship is great, and the teaching gets me thinking. Plus I get to spend the rest of the day enjoying Malibu without the former pressures of student-responsibility (i.e. Mass Comm Law reading). My friend Amanda has joined me in reading (for pleasure!) at the beach or in a coffee shop and then taking a hike through Solstice Canyon. This trail follows a creek up to the remains of an old house from the 50's that burned down some thirty years ago. It feels like something out of Swiss Family Robinson... Huge palm trees, the stone foundation and fireplace, a shrine to the Virgin Mary all speak of some life that was there before.

Anyway, the rest of the trail winds in a loop up through the hills, opening up a magnificent view of the bluffs sloping down to the ocean. Each time it reminds me of an Eyvind Earle painting, though I admit, Earle's work is often prettier than the thirsty landscape we have right now. If you haven't heard of this amazing artist, check him out here and here. He did the illustrations for the old Disney Sleeping Beauty, and did a lot of paintings of the West Coast Big Sur area. Gorgeous.

I doubt every Sunday will be like this, but it sure is a blessing when one is. :-)

The girls.

The last post was a little heavy, so on a lighter note, allow me to introduce you to my lovely, crazy apartmentmates. From left: me, Claire, Lindsay, Alysha, and Jenn.

We attempted a ladies' night out a while back, got all decked out and headed to a jazz club, but we were one ID short of admission and ended up (after a few other attempts) splitting nachos and margaritas at a Mexican restaurant in Venice. It was festive. But we will try again...

Cha cha cha.

Clearing up the smog

It rained Friday night in Los Angeles. A pretty fierce downfall, actually, and the first precipation in months, as far as I can recall. It seemed an appropriate way to end my week, indeed, perhaps a series of months. Rain. Renewal. Cleansing. Peace.

See, it was a challenging week on a number of levels, stemming from the news that my grandpa passed away back in Nebraska. Even now I think I remain on hyper-drive, not really taking the time to let emotions play out. There's a quote in the book I'm reading (A Prayer for Owen Meany by John Irving): “Rituals are comforting; rituals combat loneliness.” It’s a true little phrase, and I think one could easily substitute the word busyness for rituals. As long as I keep myself busy, I don't have to face the music, but there is a danger in that, and so I thank my thoughtful friends and coworkers who have been listening ears and extended such kindness.

Those who know me can testify that I don't naturally open up about my deeper struggles; this is something I've been working on, and this week has reminded me of the importance of dependence on friends. Internalizing, compartmentalizing--it only lasts so long.

My mind is still quite overflowing with thoughts and topics, far too much to spill onto this blog, so I will save them for future posts. In the meantime, here are hints of posts to come: M.I.A.'s latest album Kala, the new musical Across the Universe, and perhaps a few words on human struggle and my impressions of God's enduring love. Eclectic? Yes. Unexpected? I hope not.

For now, let me close in dedication to my grandpa.

My grandpa's name was John Hatcher Frey. Ever since I can remember, he called me "Whitney-John." I'm not sure why I got this honor (or teasing), since there were nine other grandkids, one of whom's middle name really was "John," but I think, and Mom you can correct me if I'm wrong, that it was because I was quite like him as a kid: stubborn, aggressive, rowdy. And I guess because I accepted the nickname with pride.

I loved my grandpa and I've stored away many memories of his booming voice, his crushing grip when he hugged me, his crisp white shirts, the new-car smell of his vehicles, the cleanliness and organization of his tools and workshed...I remember the way he noisily cleared his throat--there was no mistaking where he was in the house-- and the way his mere presence reminded you to sit up straight and keep your hair out of your eyes. He was a strict one, and mischievous. It's been heartbreaking these past few years so see changes as he approached his final, 87th year...weaker, frail. Grandpa and Grandma moved off the acreage where we'd spent so many holidays waking up to the smells of coffee and bacon, spent the days wandering the go-kart trails and picking apples for apple pie, and running through the house playing "cops and robbers" with the cousins...He'd built up a beautiful place, and a large, wonderful family.

(Here...I am finally having my moment...)

And even though as we kids grew up, we realized (as happens with all kids and their view of adults), that Grandpa wasn't perfect, I still loved him. I love him. And I wish I could have said good-bye. I hope someday I'll be able to ask him so many questions. And I'm so thankful for having him as my grandpa, the only grandpa I ever knew. And now, as I finally have my cry and type this with reckless abandon, unedited and grammatically crazy (still think I should go to law school, Grandpa??), I offer it as a severely inadequate tribute to a man who defies the limitations of a blog.

Here's to you, Grandpa. I miss you.

Love,

Whitney-John

Tears clear my head the way the rain clears the smog from the city...come, Autumn, come, New Season.

LED ZEPPELIN-ROCK AND ROLL

Through the Misty Mountains

I feel compelled to mention the recent news that the legendary band Led Zeppelin is reuniting for a concert this fall. I won’t pretend to be a Led fanatic or expert, especially since my existence wasn’t even a thought at the height of their glory, but their music has become iconic to me as the essence of freedom and adventure. Props here to my sister Hilary, who has always been a step ahead of me with musical discoveries. Back in the days of early DC Talk and Audio Adrenaline, I would pound on her bedroom door to tell her to turn down that rock and roll crap so I could better enjoy the soothing voices of Point of Grace and Crystal Lewis. Not long after I was joining her in packed churches head-banging and dancing to the Supertones and other “hard” Christian music. Later Hilary would lead me to a variety of musical gems, like Damien Rice, Moby, Fatboy Slim, Belle & Sebastian, and a bazillion other quite diverse artists whom I might never have discovered without her (or just much later).

Anyway, Led Zeppelin. Their reunion coincides with the release of a greatest hits album (thought they’d already done that…), which will probably rock fairly hard. As I said, they are, to me, the essence of freedom and adventure. Why? Perfect road trip music through the great outdoors. The moment I hear the opening to “Black Dog”, I’m transported to the passenger seat of my sister’s ’91 silver-bullet Saab, winding through Poudre Canyon to camp in the Rocky Mountains. Windows rolled down. Feet bare. No make-up, no work, no cares-- just the sweet, crisp Colorado air and Robert Plant belting “been a long time since I rock and rolled!”…

Hilary, I miss you, and I want to go camping.

The test begins...now.

"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door," he used to say. "You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to."

J.R.R. Tolkien

Hello, world. I've started a blog.